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Monday, August 27, 2018

I was up late last
night, and the first thing I thought of when the clock moved past midnight was…It’s Jim’s birthday.

A lot has changed
since Jim left this world thirteen years ago. I wonder what he would think
about how things are now. I can only imagine how he would feel about some
things, but I am sure of others.

I remember one time
when I was feeling a little melancholy and worried about the mistakes I’d made
as a parent. I should have done this,
instead of that. I was too hard on the kids at times. Jim just looked at me
and said, “Well, we must have done something right.” He was confident of their
futures. Our sons grew up to be good men, family men, married to the two best
daughters-in-law that we could have ever wanted.

Jim would have been
proud of his four grandchildren. They are intelligent, of good character, and inherited
the Fisher good looks. Jim loved being a granddad, and I’m thankful that he
enjoyed the three older grandkids, and it makes me sad that he never met our
youngest grandson.

I’m sure Jim would
like that I continue to live a happy, love-filled, and mostly healthy life.
Sure, sad things happen from time to time, but the moments we waste on regrets
and sorrow takes away the time we have to enjoy our blessings.

I still miss Jim,
and he sometimes comes to me in dreams and random thoughts. I cling to the good
times, the happy times. I like to remember our trips to Colorado and Oregon and
the happiness that those journeys brought Jim. One time my mom said she was
glad we took those vacations and trips when we did instead of thinking that
would be something we could do in retirement. I’m glad we did too, although at
times, I was a reluctant traveler.

It fills my heart with
gratitude that I was fortunate enough to receive Jim’s endless love. He would
have wanted us to remember him with joy and laughter rather than with sadness.
As far as his birthday—true to his unselfish nature, he would have wanted us
to be happy.

Friday, August 24, 2018

Yesterday, I was
proofreading/editing on Jim’s memoir, Indelible,
and came across a story about picking up a Memory Walk T-shirt that my
sister-in-law had made into a tank top for me. When I read that, I realized I
hadn’t seen the shirt in years and doubted if I still had it.

Later in the
afternoon, after doing some housework, I realized I’d worked up a sweat. I went
into the walk-in closet, lifted up some shirts stacked on a wire rack, and
picked a white one to pull out from the middle of the stack. It was the long
missing tank top.

I don’t know how
many books I’ve read, or TV shows I’ve watched where someone says, “I don’t
believe in coincidences.” What exactly is a coincidence anyway? A coincidence
is the occurrence of events that happen by accident. It seems that lately in my
life—coincidences rule.

At the Missouri
State Fair, during one of the live acts I watched, the performers sang “Suds in
the Bucket,” a song we hear in line dancing exercise class. This song was a hit
for Sara Evans fifteen years ago! Okay, so I’ll admit that wasn’t too odd.

The next day,
Harold and I went to brunch at Golden Corral, and were the first two in the
building. While we were taking our plates to the buffet line, someone cued up
the music. “Suds in the Bucket” was the first song they played.

The last day of the
Missouri State Fair, I needed to pick up some Alzheimer’s brochures, my photos,
and my granddaughter’s drawing. I decided to go to the fairgrounds early to
pick up the brochures because I had to pick them up before six p.m. The artwork
and photos couldn’t be picked up until 6:30.

Widespread rain was
moving into the area and I wanted to limit the amount of soaking I would
endure. I’m sure it’s just a coincident that even in the midst of a drought; it
always rains during the fair.

For some reason, I
decided to walk down a different street than usual. I stopped to watch some
horse-drawn carriages and moved on. I decided to take a shortcut between two
tents, and came face-to-face with my son. Rob was hanging around to see if the
races were going to be rained out.

Rob decided to go
with me to pick up the Alzheimer’s brochures. Beforewe had even moved from the spot, a man stopped
and shook my hand. “It’s good to see you, Linda,” he said. It was a man I had
served with on the Alzheimer’s Greater Missouri Chapter board of directors.

You don’t have to
believe in coincidences for them to happen. How many times have you been
thinking about a song, and turned on the radio at the exact same time it was
playing? Or maybe you were thinking about an old friend, and she called you.
Have you ever had a sick feeling in your stomach that something bad was going
to happen, and you find out later that something bad happened at the time you
had the feeling?

Was it a coincident
that Jim was a Vietnam veteran—was exposed to Agent Orange, suffered from PTSD,
had clinical depression—and developed a rare dementia? It could have been a
coincident…

Coincidences can be
great surprises, life’s little mysteries, or downright weird. I know some
people don’t believe serendipity assumes a significant role in our lives, but I
believe it does. Sometimes, I think most of the pivotal events in my life have
been the product of chance and coincidence.

Sunday, August 12, 2018

I walked to the
mailbox a few days ago and noticed that our apple tree had some apples on it.
Isn’t that what apple trees are supposed to do? Well, yes, but our apple tree
had served as chow for the Japanese beetles again this year. Last year, the
tree didn’t have any apples when the beetles finished eating the blossoms and
made lace out of its leaves.

The apples seemed
to me to be a symbol of strength. They had faced potential destruction, but
they survived.

I’ve heard people
say you never know how strong you can be until being strong is the only option.
Sometimes, people surprise me. I knew a shy, timid woman who when faced with a
life-threatening disease showed amazing strength through a series of
disappointing doctor reports. I’ve also known people who give up at the first
sign of a problem, and dissolve into a lengthy pity party.

Alzheimer’s caregivers
are, for the most part, notoriously strong people. Caregiving can be
overwhelming, frustrating, and extremely saddening. Losing a loved one to a
relentless, incurable disease is life changing for the family. The person
hardest hit is the one responsible for the well-being of the person with
dementia.

A caregiver has to
work her way through the grief and pick of the pieces of a life that has fallen
apart. He has to make a conscious choice to be strong and choose quality of
life over quantity. She has to make the tough decisions about finances, healthcare,
and personal safety. It takes strength to survive, and super powers to thrive.

Life after dementia
becomes difficult, but not impossible. It is important to take advantage of the
early stages to continue living life as normally as possible. Keep up
activities that you and your loved one enjoy.

Jim and I used to
enjoy playing pitch. Uncle Johnny and I played Jim and Aunt Nita. They were
wild and crazy bidders and beat us on a regular basis. At first, Jim could
still play cards, but when it became too difficult for him, his mom helped him
decide which cards to keep and when to play them. With her help, he was able to
enjoy the game long after he would have had to quit.

I even tried to
play Super Mario Karts with him, but he laughed at me when I got my kart turned
around backwards and told me, “You’re going the wrong way!” As if I hadn’t
figured that out on my own. I just couldn’t seem to get my hands coordinated
with my eyes.

Any day you can put
your cares aside and recapture joyfulness is a good day. It may be harder to
have fun than it would be to sink into despair, but it is well worth the effort.

When adversity
attacks our lives, we have to decide if we are going to be a leaf or an apple.

Wednesday, August 1, 2018

Being a farmer,
Harold knows a lot about plants. One day we were out driving and I asked, “What
are those pretty blue flowers alongside the road?”

He gave me a quizzical
look at my ignorance, and declared, “They are weeds!”

I have a better
appreciation of his assessment now than I did then. After I started to help him
mow our huge lawn, I noticed that before the grass needed mowing again, weeds popped
up and ruined the smooth grassy surface. Drought will turn our lawn brown, but
the weeds grow in all their natural glory.

Like our lawn, life
would be smooth and beautiful if the weeds of negativity, doubt, and
frustration wouldn’t crop up to complicate everything. It is an individual
decision whether we let the weeds take over or whether we keep chopping away at
them until we can see the beauty again.

Caregivers battle weeds
on a daily basis. Most outsiders would think that the hardest part of
caregiving would be physical caregiving tasks—feeding, bathing, changing adult
diapers, and being responsible for another’s wellbeing—but they would be wrong.
The hardest part of caregiving is working past the grief of losing a person you
love by degrees.

While a caregiver
loses his loved one to the world of dementia, he must cling to himself too. It
is not helpful to the caregiver or the person with dementia if the caregiver sacrifices
his health to become immersed in his caregiving role.

I know it’s hard to
keep the doubts, negativity, and frustration at bay. I often questioned if I
could even find enjoyment as Jim’s health declined. Throughout ten years, I
struggled to find some balance in my life. It helped that I was still working
because that allowed me to have a part of my life that hadn’t changed as much.
Oh, I had to leave work from time-to-time to deal with one crisis or another,
but still it provided respite from caregiving.

Being involved with
the Alzheimer’s walk and becoming an Alzheimer’s advocate gave me a sense of
accomplishment. Out of a negative situation, I found purpose and positivity
through my volunteer efforts. The most painful time of my life changed me, took
me places I would have never been, and introduced me to some of the most
amazing people—other caregivers.

Life is no more or
less than we make it. Maybe it is my nature to view some weeds as pretty
wildflowers. Life offers endless beauty if we allow ourselves to believe in flowers
and scoff at weeds.

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Early Onset Alzheimer’s

This award-winning blog is a must-read for individuals experiencing early-onset Alzheimer’s. Less common than standard age-related dementias, early onset Alzheimer’s is virtually always a surprise to diagnosed individuals. Linda Fisher, blogger and author, knows the difficulty of this condition firsthand.

In her Early Onset Alzheimer’s blog, she teaches readers not just how to manage such a frightening condition, but also how to live life to the fullest. Her passion for helping others – showing everyone that life with Alzheimer’s is worth living – is a tremendous gift. Thank you, Linda!

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Early Onset Blog has received several blog awards. Due to new Google regulations, the links had to be removed. Past awards have included the #1 Health Blog , Top 10 blog in 2010, Top 25 Blog award in 2010, and a Top 50 award in 2012. We appreciate the recognition, but also understand the need to remove the links.

I went to sleep around midnight and woke up at 4:00 a.m. I tossed, turned, read, tossed, turned, and read some more. Finally more than t...

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Fisher began her online journal to share her experiences with families affected by early onset dementia. Her essays provide insight into family life often from a humorous viewpoint. She writes from her experiences as a longtime Alzheimer's Association volunteer and advocate and ten years as a primary caregiver for her husband, Jim.

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Thank you, Lindsay, for your kind words and for including the Early Onset Blog on your website.